


Skipping Back to You

by VeronicaRich



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance, Season/Series 12 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 17:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12709389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaRich/pseuds/VeronicaRich
Summary: Trying to overcome his own self-damning nature, Rimmer realizes there's something that needs to be said when he returns from skipping around dimensions. Set post-"Skipper" in Series XII.





	Skipping Back to You

**Author's Note:**

> Written quickly, no beta, only a cursory edit, feed back if you like!

_Courage: A Revelation in Three Acts_

For the rest of the evening the three of them played poker, Kryten occasionally happening by to lend encouragement to Lister, tut-tuts on Rimmer’s hand, and whispered instructions in Cat’s ear. Rimmer spent his time trying to concentrate on his hand and not Lister. He’d been forced to solidify a feeling that had been growing in his electronic gut for far too long, these past few days, and nothing in his upbringing or early adulthood had equipped him to process it in anything approaching a healthy manner.

Later, after Cat had wandered off to manufacture his three-hour mousse supply for the month before bed and Kryten went to change the laundry and recharge, he watched Lister’s hands as they shuffled and stacked the cards and stacked the matchsticks. He was about to say something, he wasn’t sure what, when the other man asked, “So, not such a good time traveling around, was it?”

“What?”

“Your time-skipping. Came back here; figure you didn’t find anywhere you were better off than here.” There was nothing inherently mocking in the tone, but since Rimmer had never let logic get in the way of gittishness, he bristled nonetheless. “Or you did, and for some crazy reason thought better of staying.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve done just fine for myself in this universe, laddo.” It was automatic, autonomic, this need to argue with his roommate. As he spoke out loud, he winced inwardly that he couldn’t for once acknowledge a statement in a positive verbal manner. “I realize you probably wanted shed of me to be the ranking officer, but that’s not the way things work around here.”

Lister frowned. “When’d I say I wanted you out?” The perfectly reasonable tone did nothing to calm Rimmer down; for some reason, it worked the opposite. “You’re putting words in my mouth again.”

Shaking his head, Rimmer slid sideways off his chair and straightened his tunic. “Don’t think I don’t see what’s going on.” He shook his finger briefly at the other man. “I’ve got to go inventory the week’s rations; I’m sure nobody did THAT while I was gone, did they?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he swerved around the other side of the table and exited the common room, chiding himself for a fool once again.

_A Second Go At Things_

He was charting ahead the next afternoon in the drive room, looking to be sure the _Dwarf_ wouldn’t be plowing into any asteroids or rocks or unreality holes, even though he was pretty certain it should be the debris that should be afraid of the moon-grabbing ship instead ( _seriously, what was that giant rock that had been buried in the hull for millions of years now?_ ). He was so involved in his scrutiny that he didn’t hear any footsteps or rustling, and jumped a bit at the hand that rested temporarily on his shoulder. “Any obstacles in our way?” its owner asked.

“Not yet,” he murmured, more annoyed with himself for not hearing Lister sneak up on him, then annoyed further that his brain called it “sneaking” instead of “entering the room as any of the four of us has the right to do on a ship six miles long.”

Lister took the other pilot’s seat and went through his ritual of getting things in order for a shift. Rimmer glanced through his periphery at the familiar bustling and movements, realizing that where it once annoyed his sense of precision, now it was like mental comfort food to be in the presence of it all. When Lister began speaking, he made sure his eyes were on his own console and notebook, and wrote a couple of coordinates to cover his own personal temporary guard-breaking.

“You know, Kryten’s the only other one of us who’d bother going through all that, watching for rocks and black holes and such.” Rimmer paused and scrunched his brow, wondering what gentle verbal jab this was preceding, only thinking it would be mild by the quiet tone of voice. “’S good you’re around to keep an eye out for those things. That, and the food inventories, and supply lists and drills. I mean, I guess somebody has to care. I’ve never been good at worrying about that stuff until something’s happening to me.”

A … compliment? Floored, Rimmer cleared his throat and frowned. “Yes, well. There’s nothing like a simulant ship coming out of nowhere and bearing down on your port panel to make you wish you’d written down a plan somewhere and memorized it.” Well, that wasn't too bad, as straight responses went. “Or some fancified git in an overpriced jump ship trying to compensate for _something_.”

As usual, he knew just the right moment and way to introduce a curdle into the milk of human kindness, and insult himself at the same time. Rimmer wished this talent had been financially rewarded in life, as he would have amassed a fortune to put Christian Grey’s to pathetic shame. “Just observing,” Lister responded neutrally, the edge of warmth that had been in his tone now gone. “Don’t you have more inventorying? I can finish that up if you’re not done.”

He punched a few buttons and answered, “Saved now,” before getting up and executing a near-military turn to leave the drive room. _Damn, damn, shit, boy howdy, damn, DAMN,_ he cursed himself, setting a brisk pace down the corridor toward the lift. “What is smegging WRONG with me?” he asked himself under his breath, wishing not for the first time that he knew how to articulate what was inside him in competent fashion. _Oh, bloody well knock it off,_ his brain told him. _You know very well what you want to say and you just don’t have the spuds to do it. You want to be truly impressive? Hero your way out of THAT._

_Walking Across Coals (Metaphorically of Course)_

His skipping back home had come less than a couple of weeks before Christmas, and over the next couple of weeks they all kept busy preparing in their own way, as they did every Saturnalia. Scavenged and “found” presents were exchanged the night before, and the next day the three non-Krytens awoke to a lavish feast prepared by the mechanoid, who for his labors received the next three days chased away from doing any work by Lister to go wind down, recharge, and watch “Androids.”

They spent their Eve as usual, exchanging gifts and insulting each other’s choices through glasses of eggnog, festive shots of other alcohol, and cocktails made from the officers’ liquor stash. Cat stuck to Irish cream and nog and, as he couldn’t hold his liquor well, usually ended up napping in an adjoining room to the common area until late the next day. When he was gone and Kryten had gone off to start on food prep, late in the night, Rimmer swirled his scotch around the bottom of his crystal-cut tumbler and decided to take advantage of the pleasant fuzz-wrapped clarity of mild drunkenness to speak. “I came back for you,” he told Lister.

“Hmm?” Lister took a sip of his lager and tilted his head to eye Rimmer.

He shrugged on his chair, leaning over the table, still not quite meeting the Scouser’s eyes. That had been difficult the last two weeks. “Every universe I went to, all these places I could’ve found out all these things about myself and my surroundings, and all I wanted to know was, what was Lister doing there? What was he like? Was he there? Why wasn’t he there?”

“Really.”

“Did you know, self-awareness is a real bitch?” Rimmer lifted the glass, looking through it as he kept swirling, to see if he could get a good whirlpool out of the liquid. “I mean, I haven’t actively _wanted_ to be in love since I was about seventeen and kept getting turned down by Academy girls. I still don’t, but … it’s a real cracker. Feeling it, I mean. For someone I know I can’t stand.” He stopped swirling and knocked back the drink, gulping the fiery liquid in a massive shot. He put the glass down hard and blew out a stream of air he swore was probably on fire. “Smooth,” he choked, but secretly enjoying the rush to his simulated brain. “Me and the drink,” he added – then began giggling, for heaven’s sake.

“Look, maybe you’d better have a lie-down.” Lister slowly slid off his own seat and helped Rimmer do the same. “C’mon, your nap bunk’s over here. Get some sleep … you’ll feel more yourself after you burn that off.”

“Uh-uh,” he protested, shaking his head. “No.” He brought his hands up to frame Lister’s face and, before he could lose his Northern courage, kissed the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t drunk, per se, and settled on the corner as a compromise to full-on assaulting the man with a perhaps-unwanted kiss. This way he could say it was just friendly. He paused and murmured, “Love you.” _All right, VERY friendly_.

“Rimmer, I know you, and you’re going to wake up pissed off you did this.”

“You just don’t love me back, ‘s all,” he countered, nodding, his large nose rubbing Lister’s cheek as he did so. “But ‘s all right, I already took that ‘to account when I said it. I’m growing, you see,” he added, pulling away. He made the mistake of looking into those gorgeous brown eyes. “It’s all right,” he added with uncharacteristic generosity of spirit. “I don’t expect reci- recipr- recipera- it back.” And he patted the side of his face.

Lister sighed deeply and shook his head. “Arnold, man …” The comment went unfinished, but only in favor of him pulling Rimmer against him and kissing him back. This kiss wasn’t the corner of his lips, but pressed over them, and he cocked his head and felt the man’s mouth on his, and licked into it a few times. “Dave,” he tested when there was a break, and he was rewarded by their noses pressed together. “Are _you_ too drunk?”

“I’m always too drunk,” Lister corrected, “but not as bad as I used to be.”

They stood fairly stable, swaying only a little bit and holding each other up by resistance, as Lister stroked his hair and Rimmer slid a hand up, then down, the man’s back. “I told the last you I couldn’t be where you ranked higher than me,” he said quietly, “but really … I couldn’t be somewhere where you ranked higher than me.” The sound of Lister’s amused snort was even intoxicating. “And, I mean, you were with someone and I had a wife, and neither of those things sounded good for doing this,” he said, starting another kiss.

They stood and slightly swayed and kissed and tousled for a while longer, then managed to help each other to the sofa, where they sank onto the cushions facing one another, Lister’s leg thrown over his sideways. With balance no longer a problem, Rimmer could concentrate on kissing him fully, fingers wound around his dreadlocks, while Lister’s arms wrapped around his body and warmed him. After a while of this, Rimmer managed to dredge up some more non-sarcasm just in time for the holiday. “Happy Christmas, Listy,” he hummed.

“It sure is,” he agreed, hugging Rimmer to him. “Best gift ever.”

Inspiration struck the hologram. “This mean you won’t subject us to that schmaltzfest of a movie tomorrow, then?”

“Oh, Arn,” Lister said with real affection, and Rimmer knew that obstinate tone. “It just means I won’t cry until Zuzu’s petals.”

“Wonderful,” Rimmer deadpanned.


End file.
